Perceleina Jackson and the Lightening Thief
by TheDaughterOfPersephone
Summary: Hey, I'm Perceleina Sierna Jackson. And this? It's MY story. Ever heard of me? Well, now you have. I didn't steal the Lightening Thief, whatever you say. So watch me on my quest to prove to my uncle Zeus that he's wrong, a feat that nobody has ever achieved. You know what? I think I might go and visit Tyche before we leave...


**So hi.**

**Disclaimer: Who said that I owned PJO? Cos they are 100% righ- *Sees Saheyhey with syringe* er, they are so totally wrong!**

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Perceleina Jackson and the Lightening Thief

Look, I never wanted to be a half-blood, emphasis on never.

If you're reading this because you think you might be one, my advice is; close this book right now.

Believe whatever lie your mom or dad told you about your birth, you are the child of a hobo or whatever, and try to lead a normal life.

Being a half-blood is dangerous. It's scary. Most of the time, it gets you killed in painful, nasty ways.

If you're a normal kid, reading this because you think it's fiction, great. Read on. I envy you for being

able to believe that none of this ever happened.

But if you recognize yourself in these pages - if you feel something stirring inside - stop reading

immediately. You might be one of us. And once you know that, it's only a matter of time before they

sense it too, and they'll come for you.

Don't say I didn't warn you.

My name is Perceleina Sierna Jackson.

I'm just your average twelve year old girl - been kicked out of six previous schools and on the verge of being expelled from my current one, Yancy Academy. Oh Yancy. I wish that I could say that I had fond memories of the place, but the only _non_-awful part was Grover, my best friend. And also, my only friend. I'm so popular, aren't I? Not.

Up until a few months ago, I was a boarding student at Yancy Academy, a private school for troubled kids in upstate New York.

Was I a troubled kid?

Yeah, I guess you could say that.

Did I mention the time when, in fifth grade, I blew up our school bus? I never liked the colour yellow.

Or that other time, when I accidentally pressed the wrong lever when instructed to press one, and took the whole class for an unplanned swim?

Or when I- Oh, sorry, I guess I got a little off topic.

But the point is, field trips were _not _my forte. At all. I mean nada, zilch, zero point zero.

On this particular one, I had high hopes, seeing as Mr Brunner, our Latin teacher, was accompanying us.

But once again, I was wrong. Very much so.

However, I didn't know that things would go horribly wrong, so I put up with Nancy Bobofit, the redheaded kleptomaniac. Seriously, what kind of name is Bobofit?

She was pelting Grover with chunks of her peanut butter and ketchup sandwich.

But if she were to pick _any _student in the school to bully, it would be Grover.

Grover was an easy target. He was scrawny. He cried when he got frustrated. He must've been held back several grades, because he was the only sixth grader with acne and the start of a wispy beard on his chin. On top of all that, he was also crippled. He had a note excusing him from PE for the rest of his life because he had some kind of muscular disease in his legs. He walked funny, like every step hurt him, but don't let that fool you. You should've seen him run when it was enchilada day in the cafeteria.

Anyway, Nancy Bobofit was throwing wads of sandwich that stuck in his curly brown hair, and she knew I couldn't do anything back to her because I was already on probation. The headmaster had threatened me with death by in-school suspension if anything bad, embarrassing, or even mildly entertaining  
happened on this trip. Unfair!

"I'm going to murder that little idiot" I muttered, fists clenched. That girl could really get me mad.

Grover winced as a bit of Nancy's sandwich narrowly missed his eye. "It's ok, Percy, I like peanut butter"

"That's it," I growled as I started to stand. What kind of maniac was she?

I tried to calm down as Grover pulled me back. "Probation, Perce, don't forget your probation. You'll get blamed again,"

Looking back on it, I wish I'd decked her there and then, because in-school suspension was nothing compared to the mess that I was about to find myself in.

Mr Brunner led the tour of the museum, talking animatedly about pottery and Roman armour. We all trailed behind him, but I was probably the only one to actually pay attention. It was actually interesting, so when the other kids started talking, I would tell them to shut it. And every time that happened, Mrs. Dodds would give me the evil eye.

Mrs. Dodds was the 50 something year old maths teacher who happened to be accompanying us on the trip.

Mrs. Dodds was this little math teacher from Georgia who always wore a black leather jacket, even though she was fifty years old. She looked mean enough to ride a Harley right into your locker. She had come to Yancy halfway through the year, when our last math teacher had a nervous breakdown. From her first day, Mrs. Dodds loved Nancy Bobofit and figured I was devil spawn. She would point her crooked finger at me and say, "Now, honey," real sweet, and I knew I was going to get after-school detention for a month. Oh, the joy.

One time, after she'd made me erase answers out of old math workbooks until midnight, I told Grover I didn't think Mrs. Dodds was human. He looked at me, real serious, and said, "You're absolutely right."

Mr Brunner carried on talking about Greek funeral art, something about a girl on a steele dying and everything.

Finally, Nancy snickered something about the naked guy on the steele.

I whirled around, irritated. "Would you _please _shut your face?"

It may have come out a teensy bit louder than intended, and everyone began to face me.

"Do you have a comment, Miss Jackson?"

"N-no, Mr Brunner," I stammered, red with humiliation.

"In that case," he inclined his head towards me, "Please tell us what is happening in that image over there,"

I sighed in relief, recognizing the image.

"That's Kronos, the king god, and he- Sorry, king titan, and he's eating his kids, but when Zeus was born, Rhea hid him and gave her husband a rock to eat instead 'cause she was tired of having no kids, right? Eventually Zeus gave his dad a mixture of wine and mustard to make him disgorge his siblings. He then cut Kronos into a thousand pieces into different places so he could never regroup. He was thrown into Tartarus."

Behind me, Nancy snorted, "What, so on our job applications they'll ask, please explain why Cronnis ate his kids"

Mr Brunner had heard her. "And to rephrase Miss Bobofit's excellent question, Miss Jackson, why is this knowledge important in real life?"

I had a smart comment to reply him, "To teach all parents with major trust issues that eating your kids is never the answer cos eventually you'll eat a rock and be killed by your son. Is that it?"

Mr Brunner sighed, but there was mirth in his eyes as he replied, "Half marks, Perceleina Sierna Jackson. Please learn the answer to my question," he implored, his eyes looking thousands of years old.

I barely concealed my laughter as Mr Brunner let us out. Yeah, like Greek mythology actually exists!

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**Ok, PLEASE say if you want me to continue. I know gender benders aren't most people's cup of coffee (LOVE THAT STUFF), but I wanna do it but think there is no point if nobody likes the idea. BTW, this is NOT a Percabeth! **

**~TheDaughterOfPersephone**


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